


Skeletons

by isthislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Basically all angst, Eating Disorder, Fluff and Angst, M/M, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthislove/pseuds/isthislove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is disappearing within his own skin and Harry's not sure what he's supposed to do to keep him here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a shitty, angsty little one-shot that I started writing at midnight. Apparently angst is all I can write so ~ hopefully you all enjoy it nonetheless! It's based on a eating disorder so if this triggering, please don't read this or just be cautious. I may have read it through like once so if there are errors, I apologize beforehand. The song featured in the title and within the actual story is 'Skeletons' by This Century. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own 1D, this isn't real, blah blah blah.

Nobody knows when it started. 

They just know that things have spiraled out of control without them even noticing it. 

Harry feels the worst. He blames himself and he thinks that everybody else does too, maybe just a little bit. He spends the most time around Louis, gets to touch the parts of him that nobody else gets to touch, physically and emotionally. He should've been the first to see it but just like everybody else, he's caught off guard and left stunned. 

It happens after a show in New York. 

They're backstage and still riding the waves of adrenaline that always come after an especially good show. Niall darts over to the spread of food that awaits them as Zayn and Liam begin wrestling with each other for no other reason than they're full of joy and residual energy. Harry watches the two scuffle from the couch, laughing at them. 

Paul senses something wrong first.

“Louis? You alright?” 

Everybody immediately glances over at Louis because they are all fine-tuned to each other to a certain extent and the concern in Paul's voice is obvious. It is a blip on all of their radars. They all watch uncertainly as Louis turns around from where he's been facing a half-empty rack of clothing and gives them a wan smile. He looks pale, really pale and something about him is just … off. 

“Yeah, I'm fine, just going to go get some air.”

Nobody says anything as he makes his way over to the door. He stumbles at one point but none of them see anything that might've tripped him up, so they just assume that he's tired and clumsy. Or at least Harry does, because what else could it be? They go back to what they're doing, joking around and stuffing their faces. Not a minute later they hear someone yell 'Louis!' out in the hall and they all freeze, the echo of that panicked cry resounding in their ears.

Harry is out of the room first, flying through the door like Death himself is on his heels. He skids out into the corridor and sees a huddle of people crouching on the ground. Through a little sliver of space, Harry sees a man help Louis up into a sitting position. His heart begins to beat rapidly and he says something, he's not quite sure what, as he rushes forward. He drops down to his knees and wedges himself in between two crew members, hands outstretched.

Louis' eyes are blue. Which is obvious, everybody knows what color they are. But right now, they are almost see-through in their vibrancy, like a vase made of impossibly thin cobalt-hued glass. They're washed out and emotionless as they focus in on Harry's face, twisted with worry. He shrinks away from Harry's grasp, shaking his head so minutely that Harry almost misses it. Something clenches in his gut and he sits back on his haunches as two men lift Louis up onto his feet. 

Harry looks up at Louis, questioning and pleading through his gaze, but even though Louis is looking back down at him, there is no sign that he actually sees the other man.

* * * *

Harry becomes Louis' caretaker.

Except it feels like he's taking care of an inanimate object, and in that case is he actually caring for anything at all?

He leads Louis to the couch each morning after helping him out of bed, one hand on one of Louis' bony shoulder and the other on his equally delicate elbow. Harry feels like he is assisting a blind man, the way Louis walks so unsurely and gracelessly. He is no longer the Louis Tomlinson that Harry used to know but some remnant of him is still here and so is Harry.

As Louis sits silently on the couch, Harry goes to make them tea. He leaves sugar and milk out of Louis' but fills his up with both, hoping that maybe Louis will get that mischievous smile on his face again and reach over to steal a sip of Harry's. The chances are low but Harry can hope, can't he? There is never any saying when luck may show up on his side. His life so far has been a strong testament to that.

In the living room, Harry sets their mugs carefully onto the coffee table then sits down next to Louis, huffing a bit as he sinks into the cushion. Next to him, Louis barely makes an indent in the couch. He's perched like a doll, hollow and insubstantial. It is enough to bring hot tears to Harry's eyes but it's been two months since Louis' collapse in New York and his tears have dried up the way Louis' body has.

“Here, love, I made you tea,” Harry murmurs, picking up the mug and handing it to Louis. 

Louis' eyes study the mug but instead of taking it he just sits back and leans against the couch. Harry watches him, worried yet in some ways resigned, as Louis closes his eyes and presses his lips tightly together. It's been like this since New York. He barely speaks, he barely makes eye contact – sometimes Harry thinks he barely breathes. He doesn't recognize this Louis. The old Louis didn't just breathe, he lived. The old Louis never seemed to need air the way other people do; it was like oxygen was just an afterthought, another way in which he could enhance his vivacity. But now it's like he can barely open up his lungs to allow it in. 

“I'm going to the interview tomorrow with the other boys,” Harry murmurs, reaching out to run his fingers through Louis' fringe. “Will you be okay for a couple of hours?”

Louis flinches at Harry's touch but doesn't shy away, just sits there and lets it happen. It's worse than being pushed away, Harry has come to realize. At least rejection would mean some sort of conscious decision, a modicum of presence in order to make an active choice. But this just feels like Louis doesn't even notice him anymore, doesn't even acknowledge his existence. 

After another minute of Harry listlessly brushing Louis' fringe off his forehead, he gets to his feet and walks down the hallway to their bedroom. His bedroom. Louis hasn't actually slept in the same bed with him for nearly three months now. At first, Louis'd said he was sick and didn't want Harry getting sick, too. Then after that excuse became implausible he'd started saying that he wasn't sleeping well and didn't want to wake Harry up with his tossing and turning. Harry hadn't liked it, of course, but he hadn't pushed Louis to explain any further because he didn't want to push Louis away. He'd just assumed it was a phase, a minor roadblock.

But no.

Louis just hadn't wanted Harry to see – to _feel_ \- the ridges of his ribs, the sharp knobs of his spine and the way his lower stomach was no longer soft but concave. 

Harry lies down on his bed and pulls his comforter over him, concealing his entire body. He feels safe under the navy blue canopy of the blanket, safe from the sunshine streaming through the window that does nothing to thaw his frozen limbs. It's okay when it rains or the clouds come out. But the sun … it's too bright for how dark things have become. It just doesn't fit into this new reality. 

The entire flat is eerily quiet. Silent, almost. If not for the outside sounds, it'd be possible to pretend that they live in a bubble or that they're floating in outer space. It's unsettling, to say the least. Harry lies on his side and just listens for any sign of movement. He's done this often, just lying in bed and hoping that maybe one day Louis will come crawling in, sheepish and apologetic. But that hasn't happened yet. It probably never will. But Harry is willing to wait. 

The truth of the matter is, Louis refuses to get help and that means nothing will be fixed. Nobody can make him do anything – eat, go to rehab, even just talk to someone. It is all up to Louis but he doesn't see what's broken. He just feels it. And feeling is not the same as seeing. Sometimes, Harry thinks he understands. He's researched eating disorders extensively, almost obsessively, and he's read people's personal stories. He can imagine how difficult it is to look at one's choices objectively, how hard it must be to see how something is wrong when it's the only thing that feels right.

* * * *

It's not a huge blowout like one might expect.

They're sitting at the table across from each other, dinner plates in front of them. Harry has refused to stop making them their nightly meals and although Louis usually locks himself in his room and keeps up his side of the deal by refusing to come out, but tonight, Harry has forcibly sat him down at the table. They both know nothing will happen, even if Louis' at the table. He's past the denial, secretive stage. It's out in the open and there's no need to make a show of not eating. 

Harry chews, keeps his eyes glued to Louis, who's sitting there with is head cradled in one hand.

“I don't understand how we never noticed,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head.

Louis glances up but then drops his eyes. 

“We spend every single day with you. _Every single day _.”__

__Harry could swear that Louis rolls his eyes at that comment._ _

__“How long has this been going on, Louis? How...how did you just change so drastically?”_ _

__Louis shrugs, looks up but keep his eyes trained on something to the right._ _

__“Does this usually happen out of the blue? I...I don't understand. You weren't like this before. It's like you just flipped a switch and -”_ _

__“Shut the fuck up,” Louis mutters, getting to his feet._ _

__Harry stares at him, mouth agape._ _

__“You don't have a clue,” Louis hisses, blue eyes narrowed. “You notice what you want to. You notice when shit happens to you but you ignore all the other shit.”_ _

__It isn't true, they're both aware of this. Louis has just been covering it all too well for Harry to pick up on it._ _

__“Louis-”_ _

__“Leave me alone, okay? I can handle myself.”_ _

__And then Louis's gone from the kitchen, leaving nothing behind.  
_ _

* * * *

Zayn doesn't even seem to utilize one muscle as he lifts Louis up from the couch. He's not even the strongest one out of all of them; he's probably one of the thinnest, actually. Besides Louis, now.

Harry, Niall and Liam watch as Zayn carries the sleeping man out of the living room and into Harry's room. Harry almost calls out and asks him to put Louis back in his own bed but he doesn't. He wants to do it out of concern for Louis, not because he doesn't want the other man in his bed. He's done it before. Put Louis in his bed when he was sleeping. Then he'd woken up disoriented and had stumbled back to his own room, not saying a word. It had hurt enough that after the third time, Harry'd stopped.

The three of them sit down on the couch, nobody mentioning the fact that although Louis had been stretched out on it for hours, there is little warmth remaining to even hint at it. Liam wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders and they lean into each other. Niall puts a hand on Harry's knee and squeezes. They wait for Zayn, who takes a good five minutes before returning. Nobody mentions the wetness in his eyes, either. It's all about not mentioning, nowadays. It's gotten to the point where if it doesn't need to be said, then don't fucking say it. 

Liam scoots over and Zayn squeezes in beside him. Nobody speaks, just gravitates closer and closer until everyone has at least one around them. He hears Zayn sniffle softly, followed by a murmur from Liam. Harry says nothing, just keeps his head bent and eyes trained on his hands, lying still on his lap. It's times like these when he feels the worst. He knows the boys don't judge him, at least not harshly, but their mere presence is enough to make him feel guilty.

“I can't watch this anymore,” Zayn says. “I can't watch him kill himself.”

They all digest his words, trying to figure out what he's implying. Is Zayn trying to say that he is going to take a step in forcing Louis to get help or is he saying that he's done sticking around? The latter explanation is too painful for Harry to contemplate. He cannot imagine Zayn – or any of them, really – giving up on Louis. Because if he gives up on Louis, he gives up on Harry, too. 

“He needs help,” Liam says. 

Zayn shakes his head and Harry's heart sinks. “He won't. I said to him when I was putting him to bed that it's time he stopped fucking around and tried to help himself. You know what he told me?” He sounds angry.

Nobody replies, nobody needs to. 

Zayn continues. “He told me that this is what he wants.”

Harry gets to his feet abruptly, tearing himself out of the now too-suffocating hold Liam and Niall have on him. He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the quiet, questioning murmurs of his name. 

“I ...” Harry shakes his head, lets out a quaking sigh. “I can't do this anymore, either.”

* * * *

The next morning, Harry tells Louis to leave.

What he says, really, is that Louis needs to go home to Doncaster and sort himself out there because Harry is literally on the brink of losing his mind. He'd expected Louis to just stare blankly at him and say nothing, but a wash of hurt immediately fills Louis' eyes and he starts to cry right there on the couch, his frail little shoulders heaving as his sniffling turns to sobbing. Harry almost breaks down and takes back his words but he doesn't because he knows that this is what Louis needs. He doesn't need kindness, doesn't need leniency.

He helps Louis pack because he's so weak that he can barely make the trek between his suitcase lying on the bed and the closet more than three times. So Harry grabs the clothing he thinks Louis needs and hands them over to the other man, who folds them sloppily with trembling hands and sets them into his bag. They do this all silently because they're both in pain – Louis, physically and emotionally, and Harry mostly just emotionally. They clear out half of Louis' closet and then Harry rolls the suitcase out to the front door, where it will stay until tomorrow morning, when a car takes Louis home. 

The rest of the day and night, Louis sleeps. The only thing he says to the other man all day is to ask Harry if he'll just sit with him for the rest of the time they have left. Harry wants to say no, that it'll only make things harder, but he physically cannot form his lips around that one simple word: no. As Louis sleeps, Harry sits beside him in bed, his back up against the hard wood headboard. After Louis slides off into a silent, still sleep, he begins to run his hand through the thin, soft hair that lies against Louis' skull. He falls asleep like that, hand resting on the other man's shoulder with his head lolling to the side.

The next morning, Harry watches from the doorway as Louis gets into the back of the hired car. They don't wave goodbye, they don't even say it. 

Louis had been silent all morning, but that was nothing new. It seemed that as the weight melted off his bones so did his entire essence, what made him Louis. He used to be so quick to speak and comment but now, it's like his tongue has become a useless appendage to a body that no longer knows how to function. Harry hadn't known what to say all morning himself, and kept tripping over the most uncomplicated sentences until he'd just gone quiet, too. As a last hurrah of sorts, Harry had made Louis his favorite tea and just sat across from him at the table, watching as his best friend – his love – slowly sipped at the scalding drink. 

They meet eyes one more time through the open window before the car pulls away.

Harry feels hollow inside and he wonders how feeling empty could've ever made Louis the happiest.

* * * *

Jay calls him once a day to give him updates but stops once it becomes clear that it only upsets Harry.

It isn't that he doesn't want to know – it's just that nothing changes, and not being able to see Louis' steady decline is almost as bad as having it happen right in front of one's own eyes. At least in the latter case, it'd be possible to one day say, _'This is it, he'll break any moment.'_ Not being able to witness it himself makes Harry fear that Louis will disappear when he is least expecting it. He holds out hope that Louis will wake up one morning and realize how much help he needs. He can't imagine getting the call that Louis has finally done it, that he's succeeded in making himself completely vanish. 

It scares Harry that that might be Louis' ultimate goal.

One afternoon a couple of weeks after Louis' departure, he opens the door to find Liam, Niall, Zayn, Nick, Lou, Danielle, and Eleanor all on his doorstep. It's a ragtag group of people and at first, he just stares at them, hand clenched around the edge of the door. They smile at him in varying degrees of sincerity. He lets them in without a word and they take up their stations in his living room as he watches, bewildered from the door. They laugh together as they interact, going in and out of the kitchen and trying to make themselves comfortable on the couch that is rarely used, now that Louis' gone. It seems almost wrong, having them all here and being happy. Acting happy? Harry can't be sure.

Nick pats the couch next to him. “C'mon, Harry. Sit.”

Harry does as he's asked, perching on the edge of the cushions like a nervous animal ready to flee. Nick reaches up and pats his slouched back comfortingly. He's got that look in his eye, that genuine shine of compassion that sometimes gets lost in his joking and cleverness. Harry thaws a bit under the older man's gaze. 

“We thought a good ol' sing-a-long might cheer you up!” Niall crows, plopping himself down on the ottoman of the armchair that Zayn is stretched out on. “Singing always makes you happy, yeah?”

Harry stiffens, looks around at the other faces turned towards him. Since Louis' decline, the band has taken a hiatus of sorts, trying to figure out what to do next. Really, everything is on hold until it becomes clear whether Louis will get better or die. Nobody says it, but it doesn't take a mindreader to get the message. 

“Please, Harry?” Eleanor asks, her voice soft. Their eyes meet and she smiles weakly at him. 

He nods. “Alright.”

He takes in a breath of air, thinking of the most recent song that he's listened to that won't be completely inappropriate in this situation. He feels like he needs to song a song with meaning, something that speaks to them all.

_You're like a ghost to me_  
 _A love so true I cannot see_  
 _It's such a mystery_  
 _But I'm head over heels for you_  
 _Can't get inside your head_  
 _Threw away the key instead_  
 _And kept it locked away_  
 _But I'm head over heels for you_

At some point before the chorus, Zayn's voice chimes in and they look at one another, their gazes anchoring each other. Everybody else stays silent as the two men sing together. Harry thinks that this should feel like a worn-out cliché, just another one of those 'feel good, healing' moments, but instead, it really feels like nothing of the sort. He just hurts even more and he's truly glad that Niall and Liam don't join in because then … then it would be so obvious how they're missing one of them.

_You got the shackles on me, yeah_  
 _But I just wanna be free, yeah_  
 _Don't need an expert to see, yeah_  
 _That it's time to shake your skeletons_  
 _Shake your skeletons_  
 _Shake your skeletons_

****

A month passes before Jay calls again.

Harry accepts the call immediately after seeing her name flash up on his screen, his heart sinking straight into the floor. This could be it. It's one o'clock in the morning and bad news is impatient in a way that good news is not. 

“Hello?” he murmurs, rolling onto his back in his bed. 

He hasn't been sleeping all that well anyway, but right now he's more than awake. He feels like he's super aware of everything around him.

“Harry?” Jay's voice is thick with tears and before she can say another word, Harry begins to cry. “Harry, love, Harry.”

They sob together over the receiver, their weeping desolate and heartbreaking in the silence that envelops them. Harry is still lying on his back, and has to sit up when he begins coughing around the phlegm in his throat. He wipes the snot from his nose with the back of his hand and wipes it on the baggy shirt he's wearing. He slumps over his bent knees, his phone still pressed tightly against his ear. He misses the soft voice in the background on Jay's end, he's too busy trying not to drown in his own tears. 

“Harry,” Jay repeats, her voice clearer this time. “Louis … he wants to talk to you.”

Harry stills, fat tears still rolling down on his cheeks. “What?”

“Harry?” This time, the voice that floats into his ear is sweet and so, so familiar yet so unexpected that Harry feels a shiver shoot up his spine. He wraps an arm around himself. “I'm so, so sorry, love.”

“Lou...” 

“I...I've realized something,” Louis murmurs, his voice cracking. “Maybe...maybe I don't want to get better for myself but...I'd like to get better if it means being with you again.”

Neither of them voice certain thoughts. How much time had Jay and his sisters spent trying to convince Louis? How much had this truly been Louis' decision? Had one scary moment really been enough to change Louis' mind? Harry's read stories of people going to rehab only because they felt cornered and forced. It kills him to think that this is the reason Louis has agreed to go but in the end, the only thing that counts is the fact that Louis' going. It is a complicated process, recovery, but accepting the fact that it's needed is the most crucial step. That's all Harry asks for. He doesn't care if he's the reason behind that acceptance. What Louis does not say is that on his phone, he has the video of Harry and Zayn singing. Liam had recorded it and sent it to him. The sadness in Harry's voice is what stands out. It's threaded through the words and had hit Louis in a way that nothing else had. But he won't say that to Harry. It's his little secret.

Harry stares at the wall across from his bed, eyes unfocused and blurry. “I thought you were dead.”

Louis laughs, but it's devoid of humor. “There was a rocky patch, yeah. Then I woke up like an hour ago and…I felt like my heart was about to stop and it scared me. Scared me so bloody much. Then I thought about my family, the boys, the fans. You.”

Harry feels his lips turn up into a small smile, despite the tears trailing down his face. “Are you serious? You're going to get help?”

A long pause follows his question before Louis speaks again. “Yes.”

Harry chokes out a joyful laugh. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you so much, too.” 

His voice is quiet and that sense of detachment lingers in his voice, but Harry can hear all he needs in Louis' words: promise.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I highly doubt Harry Styles listens to This Century but you know what, this is a work of fiction. I hope this story wasn't too depressing or anything, and always remember: take care of yourselves.


End file.
